


raw

by santanico



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fingerfucking, First Meetings, Flirting, Hook-Up, Kitchen Sex, One Night Stands, Pre-Season/Series 02, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The city rolls by, bright lights and heavy rain, and Elektra shuts her eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	raw

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't finished season 2; forgive me if anything's non-congruent.
> 
> edit: accidentally warned for major character death; there's no major character death

Finding women in Hell’s Kitchen is hardly difficult. They come and go as they please and, like anyone, they always give Elektra a second look.

That’s how she stumbles into a blonde woman with thin shoulders and a bit of a stutter. _Cute_ she thinks, then, _beautiful_ as well. Elektra licks her lips. The girl smells lovely, a lingering cologne beneath her rose perfume. Pencil skirts, kitten heels.

“Do you need help,” the girl asks as Elektra steps onto the curb.

It’s a true hour of despair, honestly. She makes her best distraught and slightly blanching face, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Snapped my shoe,” she says, dangling it in front of the blonde girl’s face. The blonde smiles and tucks back a strand of hair, mirroring Elektra’s movements. Under the street lights in front of the long row of apartments, the girl’s face is washed out, dim yellow giving her skin a cast to it. She manages to be pretty despite that, despite the smallness of her body and the height she carries. 

Elektra really did break her shoe, and it really _is_ embarrassing, but the girl is looking at her, and...The girl is nervous.

“Sorry, you can probably tell,” Elektra says, easily, “I don’t know the neighborhood very well.” She leans over to take off her other heel and hooks them between her fingers. She’s glad she wore jeans tonight, tight and dark but nothing that makes her appear too intimidating. She can take fake eyelashes off when she’s in the bathroom, and same for the red lipstick.

She curves her mouth into a smile and looks at the girl.

“Uh, I don’t - I mean, I don’t know if we’re the same size, but if you wanted…” She trails off and sort of laughs, ducking her head. “Come in, get cleaned up, and we can call you a cab?” It’s a suggestion, phrased with a lilt in her voice to make it into a question.

“Alright,” Elektra says, wetting her lips. Her lipstick has dried and stained there, sunk into fine lines. She probably doesn’t look any more elegant under these lights than the anxiety ridden girl with tight muscles in her shoulders. Elektra follows the girl across the wet concrete and up a small set of stairs into the apartment.

“My name’s Karen,” Karen says, and leads Elektra into a kitchenette, flicking on a fluorescent light in the center of the room. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Got any wine?” Elektra says, meaning it to be flippant, expecting a glass of water.

Karen looks over her shoulder, loose curls flipping, and grins. “Can’t hurt to stay for a drink?” she says, again like a question. Maybe she thinks Elektra will say no and disappear and the moment will be over.

“It can’t, can it?” Elektra says. She wonders if this girl is used to strange women - or perhaps men, or both - coming up to her apartment. Maybe the way she poises herself, so certain but a little coy, a little hidden, is part of an act. Elektra likes that about her.

“I’m Elektra, by the way,” she says as she rounds the corner and leans on one of the countertops. Karen raises an eyebrow as she takes a bottle of wine out from a cupboard.

“Interesting name,” Karen says slowly. “I pegged you as...something French.”

Elektra smiles. “I could be French, if you want.” She puts on an accent, and Karen stiffles a giggle. “I’m sorry, I’m terrible at - look, I can’t even do, what, a northeast American accent? The kind, you know, the cable TV kind?” She licks her lips. “May I use your restroom?”

Karen blinks. “Oh, of course, it’s uh, down the hall, to - to your right.”

Elektra drops her shoes on the floor and follows Karen’s instructions. The bathroom is nothing to write home about, certainly, but it’s clean and cozy. For as much as Elektra lives in elegance, there’s something about places like Hell’s Kitchen, tiny apartments such as these, that catch her fancy. She steals one of the makeup wipes in a pack next to the soap and wipes her face. It leaves behind a thin layer and doesn’t remove all her lipstick, so she rinses with her fingertips and warm water and takes the hand towel off the rack above the toilet and pats down. 

This is natural. She pauses to examine herself; under eye circles, taut mouth, a couple of less-than-sightly pimples emerging on her hairline where she brushes away her almost-bangs. Nothing a pretty girl who wants to be touched will notice, but annoying to look at, nonetheless. Elektra leans on the counter and touches her own jaw, feeling for tiny hairs to tweeze out. Not that she’d know where to find tweezers.

She takes a minute in the bathtub to rinse off her feet and towels them dry with the same one from the rack.

It's better almost immediately.

When she comes back out, Karen is sitting at the kitchen table sipping her glass of red wine and staring blankly ahead. Elektra slides into the seat across from her.

“So, Karen, what do you do?” Elektra says, quirking her head. Flirtation is easy, once the natural tone of the conversation stops being so split.

Karen shrugs. “I...work for a law firm, actually. Not - I’m not a lawyer,” she says, and Elektra immediately thinks of Matt and his ambitions and his _work_ and smiles. She hasn’t seen him in so long, and she might never, but she recognizes him on TV, the idiot with too much riding on his shoulders. She lets herself laugh.

“That funny?” Karen says, but she’s chiding. Flirting. Teasing. Elektra leans into it.

“I dated a lawyer-type; a long time ago. _Not_ my scene.” She rolls her eyes and Karen blushes. “You - aren’t a lawyer type. I can tell. So what are you, Miss Karen?”

Karen laughs at that, shaking her head and looking back down at her wine. “I can’t be the only one drinking, come on,” she says, and nudges Elektra’s glass. Elektra lifts it and takes a sip. It’s not the four-hundred-dollar bottles she buys on weekends away from New York, or out of the country. It’s not even fifty dollars, but the taste bubbles on Elektra’s tongue and then sits heavily on the back of her throat.

“I’m the secretary,” Karen eventually says. The roll of her eyes is punctuated with a quirking half-smile, and she rests her palms flat on the table. “I can’t complain; I love the people.”

“Sure,” Elektra says. “That’s important.” She doesn’t really think so, but she can humor the girl. “Love what you do and love who you do it with.”

The girl flushes, obvious under her kitchen lights, and wraps her fingers around the stem of her glass without drinking. Elektra sips again.

“Thank you,” Elektra says, “for inviting me in. Your apartment’s lovely.”

Karen snorts. “There’s no need to flatter me.” Then she looks up sharply, and it clicks for Elektra. “Would you still like me to call that cab?”

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Elektra says, and pushes her hair back to stand. She steps around the table and looks down at Karen. Karen tilts her jaw up, almost defiant, and smiles. “C’mon, get up, we don’t have to play anymore.”

Karen’s smart. Maybe not so smart - fucking strange women she found on the street - but Elektra appreciates the way she steps back. The girl hoists herself on the table, knees still pressed together. 

“Haven’t seen a girl who looked this nice in a skirt, in, well…” Elektra trails off as she thinks about it, but Karen just shakes her head and grabs her, and then they’re kissing.

Elektra hadn’t really expected kissing, but she enjoys it. Karen has a full mouth and she knows what she’s doing with her tongue, curling it against Elektra’s lips before sliding it into her mouth and swirling. 

It escalates quickly into a full-body experience. Elektra is quick to maintain her control, pressing back down against the table with one hand planted firmly on her chest. This is a girl, she knows already, who has seen hell. There’s something like flames that lick up Karen’s thighs to her face and leave her flushed, breathing too heavily, grappling for control.

Elektra likes that. Elektra can enjoy this.

She pulls Karen back up and then, a hand on the back of her thigh, hoists Karen off the table.

“Oh,” Karen breathes as she’s pushed up onto a counter instead, legs spread by Elektra’s careful hands. “You’re...strong.” She whispers it like it’s caught her off guard, and by the heat in her eyes it probably has.

Elektra grins with teeth. “We’re just getting started, sweetheart.” She wonders if Karen is the kind of girl who ends up sleeping with strangers frequently, and determines that she probably isn’t because her hands just sort of roam before she decides to tug at the bottom of Elektra’s snug long sleeved shirt, trying to pull it off. Elektra lets go of Karen and lifts her arms, wiggling her hips as Karen pulls the shirt off.

“God,” Karen says. “You are beautiful.”

Karen takes more initiative than Elektra expects, leaning forward to graze teeth over her jaw and wrap her legs around Elektra’s waist. Elektra presses a hand between Karen’s legs, between their bodies, and lightly trails her fingertips along Karen’s inner thigh. Karen’s breath hitches for a moment and then she rocks her hips forward just a little bit, sighing. Elektra lets her fingers draw soft friction over the line of Karen’s underwear, and then presses against her clit through fabric. Karen shivers.

“That good, darling?” She knows it’s nothing, not enough, but Karen nods anyway and growls and takes a fistful of Elektra’s hair and yanks her closer. And, that’s fine, Elektra thinks, because she can get this over with, get it out of her system fast and hard.

She pushes Karen’s skirt up out of the way and doesn’t bother with ceremony as she slips two fingers inside of her. Karen shudders but pulls forward, her arms quivering around Elektra’s shoulders, fingers clinging. Elektra came for this and nothing else, and Karen rocks onto her fingers and Elektra twists and coos and strokes her free hand over Karen’s tense cheeks.

“You’re alright,” Elektra murmurs. She doesn’t have to say anything at all; Karen would certainly not complain, especially as Elektra grinds the heel of her palm against Karen’s clit. It’s just something nice to add, an offering, and Elektra lets the rhythm go on for a few minutes until the girl - Karen, she keeps reminding herself - shudders and comes with a moan into Elektra’s dark hair. 

“There we go,” Elektra says, crooking her fingers one last time before she slides out. She’s nice enough to push Karen’s panties back up her thighs, and Karen, still all flushed and a little anxious, gives her a wild-eyed expression. “What’s that?” Elektra says. “You want something else?”

Karen shakes her head, then seems to hesitate as she opens her mouth. She squeezes her eyes shut and then rests a hand on Elektra’s waist, dragging it to the front button of her jeans. 

“You can certainly try,” Elektra allows, and a minute later Karen is arching and stretching her wrist in an awkward way to get under Elektra’s underwear, fingering at her clit in rapid circles and furrowing her eyebrows, biting her bottom lip. She’s a determined and fiery girl, and Elektra thinks idly that maybe, in another life or another time, they might have slotted together somehow.

Elektra rocks her hips back against Karen’s fingers and sighs as her muscles tense and she shudders through her orgasm. She tries chasing it, clinging to the edges, but it dissipates in a moment and she takes Karen’s thin wrist and tugs it out of her jeans. Elektra zips and buttons and then kisses Karen’s inviting and open mouth.

“You don’t do this often, do you?” Elektra says, and Karen laughs, pushing herself up off the counter. She lands with bare feet on the tile, then hooks two fingers into a curl of Elektra’s hair.

“I don’t do this very much, no,” Karen says, and kisses her again. Elektra leans into that, like the flirtation, and lets it weigh in her mind and on her chest before she twists and spins away. It’s an elegant move, something she might remember from ballet, but that was so long ago, and this is just a play, this is just letting things work themselves out, meeting random girls on the street, kissing them, taking their hearts apart.

Karen doesn’t look taken apart; she looks like she was made this way, already brought together with hundreds of tiny, shattered little pieces that never quite created a whole thing. She’s not a work of art but she certainly has something underlying all that disaster, some kind of electric soul, and Elektra likes to smile at her, coy and unwinding, and she waits, expects Karen to step forward, to ask her to stay.

“You gonna call your own cab?” Karen says. 

“Ouch,” Elektra says, wincing but grinning at the same time. “Kicked out of such a pretty girl’s apartment. I see what I am to you.”

Karen raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms. “I know when I’m being used for a quick hookup.” She flattens her palms over her skirt. “Don’t worry, I have no complaints, but...You know, you know where my apartment is now.”

Elektra flicks her eyes back to Karen’s as she retrieves her shoes. “Now that,” she says, softly, “sounds almost like a threat, yeah?”

Karen rolls her eyes. “You wanna borrow a pair of sandals or not? And I’m just saying, if you wanted to. You could come back.”

“Oh,” Elektra says, then laughs. “That’s a totally different offer. I like it. You keep things mysterious, Miss Karen.”

“Drop the ‘Miss,’” she says, but Karen is still smiling, and now she takes a few steps towards Elektra before finally saying, “The shoes, or no?”

“Sure. I’d rather not - well, you know, glass on the streets, dirty cabs…” Karen laughs as Elektra laments, and disappears into the bedroom.

Elektra gets into the cab some ten minutes later and remembers the street name, the number. She doubts she’ll have any use for it, but a sweet girl like this is worth something, is at least worth remembering. She taps the address into her phone, into a note that she keeps hidden and buried under a thousand other ones. Dangerous, maybe even a little stupid, but what is Elektra Natchios if not reckless and abiding to no one singular set of rules?

The city rolls by, bright lights and heavy rain, and Elektra shuts her eyes.


End file.
